Maggie has an 11:00 am appointment at UAB for her next infusion. We’ll be traveling in the morning and staying the night in Birmingham. We continue to marvel at and give thanks for Maggie’s strength in taking this chemo in stride with very few side effects.

Our last trip to UAB – two weeks ago – was marked by the very first auto-related incident we have experienced in nearly three years of countless miles. Twenty-five miles southwest of Meridian a warning light appeared on my dash. We were losing pressure in the right rear tire at an alarmingly steady rate. I estimated (and prayed) we could make it to a tire shop in Meridian. I’m thankful we were able to pull into the Goodyear place with 15psi remaining. I know my anxiety showed as I fidgeted in line for my turn. When I was called forward I puked my story all over the desk manager (sorry, I can’t think of a better way to say it). I gave him the facts – the ones he needed and a few extra, I’m sure. I did ask for quick turn around so we wouldn’t be late for Maggie’s CT scan scheduled for 2:00. (It was 11:15). He assured me we would be next and pointed us over to the waiting area.

Fifteen minutes later a mechanic stuck his head in the door and told me to follow him so he could show me “what’s going on” with my car. I gulped and followed him to a tan suburban with wheels off and “tie rods” exposed (I learned what a tie rod is). He told me in vivid detail that I had two bad tie rods before I could get a word in. When he paused, I quickly told him, “This is not my car.” I pointed across the garage to a black Tahoe and said, “That is my car.” He brushed off his mistake with a comment about how mixed up the manager had him. I returned to the waiting area. And waited. And waited.

Finally a different mechanic walked in holding a 3″ piece of twisted metal. I love when they show me what they dig from tires! He handed it over and told me we were all set. It was then close to 12:00, and I was resigned to being a tad late. As we returned to the interstate, I asked myself what in the name of teachable moments did that detour mean? Jackson Browne answered from his spot on The Bridge: This road is full of homeless souls.

Mercy is a shoulder tap and whisper: it’s not as bad as it could be, it’s much better than it ought to be, and it won’t be this way forever. When I listen to that, I can spread mercy as it has been spread upon me. (A sorta paraphrase of Matt 6:7 “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy” but in reverse. Because I think it works that way, too, in an ever reinforcing self-feeding loop of mercy.) A string of “could haves” snaked through my mind: broken down on the interstate, been serious (tie rods), and been more expensive. In reality, I made it safely to a safe spot with a minor repair job, and the kind manager didn’t charge me a penny. With smiles all around, a silent prayer for Mrs. Suburban driver lifted up, and a tip on the counter, we left none the worse for the small ordeal. I’m hoping those left behind were a little better for our stop there. Shouldn’t that always be the case?Who knows when we’re in the presence of one of Jackson’s ‘homeless souls’? Mercy received becomes mercy given.

Thank you for the continuing support and prayers. God bless.